At this time of year some of us are haunted by the memory of a man speaking about it being funny how you remember summers by the records. And so, habitually and perhaps subconsciously, we start to identify the records that will potentially stand out over time, right? I know I do. And the early favourites this time around have been very much Lau-Ro’s Cabana and Jessica Pratt’s Here in the Pitch: two exquisitely beautiful and refreshingly brief records that somehow dovetail perfectly.
And actually there is
a certain air of mystery to these two contenders for this summer’s soundtrack, as
I genuinely know very little about the artists. I mean, I love the Lau-Ro record,
and have been playing it over and over, but I can’t tell you much about them,
not beyond the bare biographical bones. I know about their journey from Brazil
to Brighton beach and back again, at least spiritually, but that’s about it,
and do you really need to know more at this stage? No, for now the music
speaks.
Coincidentally, very
shortly after buying Cabana I found a secondhand Naxos CD of the
Venezuelan composer Antonio Lauro, a new name to me, whose twentieth-century guitar
music is exquisite. I am not sure why, but in recent years I have developed a
fondness for solo classical guitar works. It might spring from a CD I picked up
some years back in a charity shop of music for guitar by the Brazilian composer
Heitor Villa-Lobos, his ‘Suite Popular Brasileira’, plus preludes and etudes,
played by Eric Hill in 1977. More recently, I have spent a lot of time with a Julian
Bream Plays Villa Lobos CD, hoping perhaps that I would get Travis McGee
raising a glass of Plymouth Gin in salute on board the Busted Flush down at
Bahia Mar. Travis’ creator John D. MacDonald refers to Bream’s recordings more
than once in his books. JMD was a man of remarkably good taste: who else has
mentioned Maria Toledo and Luiz Bonfá in a popular novel?
It doesn’t take much
imagination to link these beautiful guitar pieces to the bossa nova pioneers João
Gilberto and Antonio Carlos Jobim, onto Luiz Bonfá, Baden Powell, and so on. Similarly,
it does not take a great leap of the imagination to connect the Brazilian
guitar composition tradition to the debut LP by Lau-Ro. It is, after all,
released by Far Out Recordings, Joe Davis’ label, which is now an institution,
one that still occasionally releases an absolute gem, old or new.
I can vividly recall going
into the Rough Trade shop in Covent Garden after work one day and buying an
early Far Out release, the Quartin compilation from 1997 featuring
Victor Assis Brasil, José Mauro and Piri (whose ‘Reza Brava’ became an
obsession, and indeed still is!) out of curiosity, prompted no doubt by what
Patrick Forge or Gilles Peterson played on their radio shows. The Quartin label
story would gradually be revealed over the course of many years, and I treasure
CD releases by Far Out of José Mauro’s classic Obnoxius, the demos on A
Viagem Das Horas, and Piri’s Voces Querem Mate?
Similarly Far Out
would have a longstanding and highly-productive relationship with Joyce, who I
often feel like crowning as the greatest of Brazilian composers and performers.
Again, I can recall getting her early Far Out release Hard Bossa and the
Mr Bongo compilation in that lovely basement Rough Trade shop in Neal’s Yard. I
guess it must be 25 years ago now, if that is possible. In more recent times Far
Out has released Joyce’s Natureza, a holy grail of sorts.
This set is the
surviving recordings of a projected LP Joyce made with the great Claus Ogerman who
as an arranger worked with all sorts, from Tony Middleton on his Northern Soul
greats ‘To The Ends of the Earth’ and ‘Paris Blues’ to Stan Getz, Bill Evans,
Cal Tjader, and Antonio Carlos Jobim, including the revered first instalment of
the Jobim & Sinatra sets. Over the years there had been tantalising
allusions to this lost Joyce record, but it would be 45-odd years before it was
possible to produce a cohesive LP or CD package, and it is as wonderful as one
would dare hope.
In 1976 Joyce, with
Mauricio Maestro and Naná Vasconceles, was in Paris, experimenting with sounds
and ideas, a process captured on the superb Far Out set Visions of Dawn.
The following year the trio were in New York, working with an enthusiastic
Ogerman and some of the finest jazz musicians, like Joe Farrell, Michael
Brecker and Mike Mainieri. The results, even in an arguably unfinished state,
sound incredible. An early version of Joyce’s signature song ‘Feminina’ opens
proceedings in its stretched-out 11-and-a-half minute splendour, and another
couple of the composer’s classics, ‘Mistérios’ and ‘Moreno’, appear in an early
form.
And yet, for all the
brilliance and artistry on show, there were no takers, not even CTI or Kudu, so
the tapes were locked away in Joyce’s archives. A tragedy, naturally, but if it
had appeared would the story have been the same? Would Joyce have returned to
Brazil in quite the same way and have created a few years later, into the ‘80s,
her quietly revolutionary holy trinity of records: Feminina, Água e Luz,
and Tardes Cariocas (the last one there being an early Far Out reissue
in 1997).
This year Far Out’s ongoing
salvage operations have meant we have been able to bathe in the beauty of the
debut LP by Argentinean guitarist Agustín Pereyra Lucena from 1970, with Helena
Uriburu singing exquisitely in her first professional recording session on
several tracks. The LP features four Baden Powell numbers, which gives a strong
sense of where Agustín was coming from. It is a simple, almost traditional (though
with a twist) set, beautifully stark at a time when Brazilian music itself was evolving
into something more ornate in the MPB era, to generalise wildly. It has been
one of my most-played records this year. It is just so gorgeous and unspoilt. And
as a sort of added bonus, on the cover, the guitarist looks (if you squint and
look at things lopsidedly) something like a young Che G.
Like that Agustín
Pereyra Lucena reissue, Lau-Ro’s first record has that same very special sense
of warmth, intimacy, softness, wistfulness and melancholia. And it is not just about
that Brazilian tradition which they tap into. Any list of good things suggested
by Lau-Ro’s music could include the delicacy and single-mindedness of The
Clientele (or, indeed, Amor de Días), their refinement belying steeliness, a reflective
Robert Wyatt, the gentleness and elegance which is there on Shleep and
beyond, that soothing tradition of Alfie and Robert’s lullabies, the point where
something like Erasmo Carlos’ ‘Meu Mar’ (from Sonhos & Memorias 1941 – 1972) sounds
like an affectionate nod to Michael Head and where Michael’s own music meditatively
wanders (not often enough now) down Brazilian pathways, and maybe, just maybe
Erik Satie and the various incarnations of Alison Statton and Spike, Shuggie
Otis’ Inspiration Information plus, an all-time favourite, Kenny Burrell’s
Midnight Blue. And tomorrow some other things.
Lau-Ro the person
plays most instruments on the record, but Lau-Ro as a group features telling
contributions from Jamie Broughton on trumpet and trombone, Isobel Jones on
flute, and George Lloyd-Owen on cello, creating an off-kilter chamber ensemble
that enchants. Elements are naggingly familiar, particularly on the
instrumental tracks like ‘Ensolarade’, literally a sunny work, with its suggestions
of Chicago Underground activity, recalling a moment in time at the end of the
old millennium. Think of Bettina Richards’ effortlessly cool Thrill Jockey as central
to the activity and a cluster of compelling releases, with Tortoise’s TNT,
The Sea and Cake’s Nassau, Isotope 217’s The Unstable Molecule, and
Sam Prekop’s solo LP forming cornerstones of a sensibility.
This was a time when Tortoise
were covering Joyce’s ‘Aldeia De Ogum’ for a Peel session, touring with Tom Zé
(his Luaka Bop compilation, part of the label’s Brazil Classics series,
was so important back then), the links to Stereolab here, not to forget key
figures on the scene, like Bundy K. Brown, Casey Rice the Designer, Rob
Mazurek, Sara P. Smith, Chad Taylor, Josh Abrams, etc. And, with a tangential
Tortoise connection, there was a little later the Savath & Savalas record Aprop’at,
which hints at the hazy darkness of Lau-Ro’s record and features a lovely cover
of ‘Um Girassol Da Cor De Seu Cabelo’ from Clube da Esquina.
Above all, La-Ro’s ‘Ensolarade’
makes me think of ‘La Jetée’, which was in many ways is the signature tune of
that Chicago scene. This Jeff Parker composition, recorded by Isotope 217, and
then Tortoise, is one of those magical tracks where you go on hearing things anew
or sounds not even there. I have to confess that, into the new millennium, I didn’t
keep up with or wasn’t aware of everything that was going on: all the various incarnations
of the Chicago Underground Duo, Trio, Quartet, Orchestra, and like-minded
splinter projects, sporadically having fun catching up, filling in gaps
(Chicago Underground Trio’s Slon is a particular current favourite),
joining the dots.
My interest in this
sphere of activity was reactivated by recent Jeff Parker releases. Picking up
on things that I missed, I particularly like Jeff as part of the Chicago
Underground Orchestra’s 1998 Playground set, and the version of ‘Blow
Up’ which opens the record. I have no idea how I missed that at the time. Similarly
I have to admit to not being aware of the Chicago Underground Trio’s Possible
Cube which closes with another interpretation of ‘La Jetée’. And Jeff Parker revisits his composition on his
own solo guitar set recorded in 2022, Forfolks,
a very beautiful record. The original version of ‘La Jetée’ might well have
been recorded before Lau-Ro born, but that means nothing if all those ecstatic young
people at Arthur Verocai’s triumphant Barbican shows are anything to go by.
All that Chicago
activity is part of a happy time inside my mind, something helpful to cling to
in bad times. I, however, think we still have a lot to learn from the scene’s openness
and reaching out, its connections to the Windy City’s disparate musical traditions
of great soul, jazz, house, blues, whatever. Nostalgia? No, I don’t think so.
At least, it’s not that simple. That music, all those records, feel very
current. In fact, shortly before writing this, I heard Tortoise’s ‘TNT’ on the
radio, and it sounded incredible, then it was followed by African Head Charge’s
‘Crocodile Shoes’; things don’t really get much better than that.
Those two tracks were
among those played by Nicky Soft Tissue, co-host of Ghost Notes Worldwide, a
long-running residency on NTS: “tune in for that post-twilight sound. Night
time music of all strains, with blunted R&B and hip hop instrumentals,
neo-downtempo productions, slow jams, and hazy dancefloor sounds.” Well, that’s
what the station’s blurb says, but it doesn’t even begin to cover
Nicky’s eccentric approach and mad choice of sounds, all very much in the sense
of: “What on earth was that?”, with plenty of his own productions under all
sorts of identities (such as Chronic Fatigue, I think), and works-in-progress
thrown into the mix. And, rather like Jeb’s Jukebox over at Caught By The
River, it has almost by stealth become a highlight of modern day life.
I can tell you
next-to-nothing about Nicky (and his ‘professional name’ is rather a confusing one
to Google, to say the least!) except that he is, I think, Bristol-based and has
produced the best (as in ‘my favourite’) UK hip-hop record in a very long time.
His collaboration with the gifted and articulate (plus presumably London-based;
he certainly sounds it!) rapper and vocalist ELDON, a very limited edition cassette
and digital release called TERRA INCOGNITA: Book One, from late last
year, is wildly abstract and a total joy, albeit seemingly a well-kept secret. It
is a brilliantly inventive record that serves as a reminder of the forward-looking
activity taking place deep into the shadows of the music business.
It’s billed as being
“an overdue meeting of the poet and a recluse”: “two world builders traverse
unknown terrain. myth making and mind mapping across 13 tracks”. And it barely
makes it to the half-hour mark. The opening number ‘beaucoup hoodoo’ features
some sublime poetry at the end from the multi-disciplinary artist Asmaa Jama,
while the set closer has the best song title Tortoise never used: “in our
dreams we fly like gods and why is that huh? Because humans used to fly not too
long ago”.
I am not sure if it
makes any sense, in terms of connections, but listening to TERRA INCOGNITO has
made me want to go and dig out ‘Blue Flowers’ by Dr Octagon, anything on Mo’Wax
involving Divine Styler, Blackalicious’ Nia, and maybe Antipop
Consortium’s Tragic Epilogue or the EP that came before it, The Ends
Against The Middle. Coincidentally or not, that music’s from the same
timeframe as the Chicago Underground activity we were talking about. Looking at
it logically, though, when these records came out Nicky Soft Tissue and ELDON
would surely have been kids, at most, and anyway, importantly, the duo sound simultaneously
out of time and somehow very ‘now’.
It is a strong
contender for my ‘record of the summer’, if delayed reactions are allowed. It’s
very much part of the soundtrack, anyway. It is so exciting to stumble across
something so startlingly good, something totally out of the blue. On the other
hand, there is a danger in overlooking the arguably over-exposed, just because
everyone is directing their attention in that particular direction. For
sometimes there’s a good reason why this is happening.
You probably know
better than me that Jessica Pratt is considerably further along her career
trajectory than Lau-Ro, so that goes some way to explaining why her Here in
the Pitch is far more fully developed than the ideas explored on Cabana.
I have to confess that Jessica’s previous work had totally passed me by, and I
suspected her recordings were not for me. That is, until I stumbled across her Rhythm
on the West series of shows on NTS, and was rather intrigued. Basically it
was just Jessica playing her favourite music over the course of four shows to
celebrate the release of Here in the Pitch. And many of the things she
played were so good that I realised there must be far more to her than what I
thought would be the case.
That sounds horribly
shallow doesn’t it? It’s not as though everyone with good taste can compose and
sing enchantingly. Far from it. But this
felt like something more than simply a batch of records. It seemed to be a
glimpse behind the scenes, an insight into Jessica’s thinking, and it made me
want to explore more. It is certainly not the first time something like this
has happened. I once thought Ali Smith’s books were not for me until I heard
her on Desert Island Discs, where among her choices were Orange Juice,
Ella, Dusty and Sylvie Vartin, so I was quickly convinced I needed to
investigate. This was around the time the first of her seasonal quartet was
published. And, yeah, it is nice to be wrong. I was very wrong about
Jessica Pratt. Here in the Pitch was not what I expected at all. Mind
you, it was apparently not what some of her long-term fans expected either, so
there you go.
On those NTS shows
she played some incredible stuff: selections by Lalo Schifrin, The Association
(but not a number I had heard before), Duke Ellington, the Feminine Complex, Jobim,
Tim Buckley, Karin Krog, and even something from Leyland Kirby’s The Caretaker project
built on fragmented memories from a haunted ballroom. She also played Yusef Lateef’s
recording of ‘Love Theme from Spartacus’,
one of the most beautiful things ever, and an early version of John Denver’s ‘Leaving
on a Jet Plane’ which is wonderfully apt for fans of Kevin Rowland’s
reminiscing.
There were tracks
that would, in any other context, make me head for the hills, but there were
also all sorts of wonderful things I was not familiar with, like Harvey
Mandel’s version of ‘Cristo Redentor’, Nick De Caro’s recording of ‘Caroline No’,
and Cloe Martin’s gorgeous ‘Life Race’, which I very quickly became obsessed
with. Jessica’s openness was a complete
joy, and she demonstrated an ability to isolate moments of wonder which may be
buried among the ‘everyday’.
At times it felt as
though she was revealing clues about what forces shaped Here in the Pitch, like
Blossom Dearie singing ‘Lonely Town’, which is so very much a song that has the
same feel as the LP. Look it up on YouTube, and the chances are you’ll find an
old post where it even looks like Jessica sheltering under an umbrella, in a (pinchable)
photo I feel I should know, and indeed you may well do. It is easy to hear on this
gorgeous track why the bossa pioneers in Brazil were so taken with intimate
vocal jazz records coming out of the States. It’s from the wonderful Blossom
Dearie Sings Comden and Green LP from 1959, by the way. Oh, and Kenny
Burrell is on this record.
And then, for me, the
highlight of Jessica’s shows, or the real revelation, was Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Although
the Sun is Shining’. When I first heard it I had to rewind the show to play it
over and over. I really couldn’t believe it was Fleetwood Mac. Danny Kirwan’s
voice sounds so eerily desolate. It is such a Here in the Pitch song.
And in my happy ignorance, I was convinced it must be some lost single from the
end of the 1950s or very early 1960s. Some stark, haunting, tremelo-infused doo
wop ballad on a wildly obscure independent label, which I guess is apt, as oddly
on initial listens Jessica’s new record made me think of The Fleetwoods’
‘Tragedy’ or something like Skeeter Davis’ ‘End of the World’, and yet somehow something
stranger was nagging away at the back of my mind. Eventually, it all came to
me.
Ages ago I stumbled
across a Numero Group playlist on Spotify, and subsequently lost it or removed
it from my library. Anyway, I found it again recently, and it had grown
alarmingly, so had lost something in transition. It had in the meantime spawned
a bona fide Numero Group release, You’re Not from Round Here, swathed in
flights-of-fancy faux film noir lore. Basically it’s ‘spectral pop’ (to coin a
phrase close to Jessica’s canon) with lots of angst-ridden, moody instrumental
twanging going on, but with the occasional broken ballad along the lines of Peggy
Lee-meets-Link Wray or variations on Jody Reynolds’ ‘Endless Sleep’.
The original playlist
featured lost gems like Cheryl Thompson’s ‘Black Night’, Kay Johnson’s ‘Walk
Through The Valley’, ‘16.88’ by Hayden Thompson, and The Monzas’ incredible ‘Forever
Walks a Drifter’, which all suggest the small town Americana Jim Thompson might
write about, or a lost soundtrack for Dorothy B. Hughes’ Ride a Pink Horse.
There is something so chillingly wonderful about that era’s bizarre interface between
Brill Building pop, folk, country, doo wop, and torch song ballads, and it is
hardly surprising Jessica has chosen to spend time there and soak up the
influence. Always assuming she did, that is.
Michael Bracewell, in
an entertaining conversation with Gwendoline Riley to tie-in with his Unfinished
Business, talked about the ‘Quantum Leap’ (and, yes, it feels like it
should be capitalised!) in terms of creativity and ability and craft (I am
extrapolating – Michael puts it far more concisely), and offered the example of
F. Scott Fitzgerald making the jump from his ‘young man’ novels to The Great
Gatsby. Jessica from Quiet Signs to Pitch makes a similar
leap. I readily acknowledge my distorted view comes from approaching her
records from the wrong direction, but in terms of the strength and depth of her
songs Pitch feels ‘next level’.
There are several exquisite
songs on the record, and already some are among my favourite things ever. I
adore those moments where her voice goes deeper, and actually it’s the occasional
drums and percussion which make a world
of difference, partly because they are barely there. I guess the presence of Mauro
Refosco on percussion helps reenforce suggestions of a bossa influence at work
on Here in the Pitch. Or is that wishful thinking?
I love her ‘World on
a String’ so much with its suggestion of Kenny Burrell sitting in with the
Velvets ‘after hours’ at Max’s. It really is a toss-up which is my favourite
song: ‘World on a String’ is so great, true, but the closing track ‘The Last
Year’ seems the one for me. It may not make sense, but the beginning makes me
think of ‘The Beat Hotel’ by Biff Bang Pow!, the version with Christine singing,
and then I seem to hear momentary or imaginary echoes of Buffalo Springfield’s
‘Out of My Mind’ and the Velvets’ ‘Sunday Morning’ (that pairing sounds like
some dream ‘lost’ outtakes from the Rainy Day project with Kendra Smith taking
the lead!). So, onto the coda, with Al Carlson in deep concentration at the
piano, making me sing the “I’m going back to find some peace of mind” motif
from ‘Do You Know The Way to San Jose’, and perhaps now I should mention ‘The
Last Year’ is the song I have decided to adopt for this summer, for all sorts
of reasons, but particularly for its theme.
Jessica Pratt definitely growing on me, I may need to pop down to the record shop this week and pick up a copy.
ReplyDeleteNice to see an appreciation of the wonderful Ali Smith, Kevin. She’s very much loved in this parish. More importantly, are you the only other person in the world who understands the total wonder of BBP’s Beat Hotel LP? I mean, the record has a dedication for Adam Sanderson on the back; for that alone it should be in every best LPs of all time list! I would love you to do an essay on this record like you did with N#9’s equally fantastic Saint Jack…
ReplyDeleteIronically, Duncan, I left out a couple of paras about The Beat Hotel as I thought it would be one meander too many. Maybe I will return to it at a later date. There may be a bit of a breather, anyway, as life/work related things intrude for a while.
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